A Trip Down Unpleasant Memory Lane

It really does matter that I am a stay-at-home mom.

Yesterday my mom and my sisters and I were all hanging out at my mom's house together for a few hours. We ended up talking for a few minutes about our daycare experience from hell.

And yes, I will stick by my word choice. It was awful.

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, my mother had to go to work (again). There was just no way for our family to survive on one income in San Diego. But like most working moms find, quality day care costs so much that you might not even bring home enough pay to cover the child care. My mom had limited options in that department and so chose to place us with Brenda, a lady who lived in our neighborhood and did cheaper day care out of her home.

I can remember going to visit Brenda's house before my mom decided to send us there. Brenda seemed nice enough; as a child what I remembered the most was the cool playroom they had made out of their attic. Brenda showed it to us as one of her selling points, I guess. At the time I was not thrilled knowing I was going to be heading to a babysitter, but cautiously interested. You know how kids are-- new toys, new kids your age, sounds like it might be fun!

It was anything but.

First off, Brenda was mean. I was an extremely sensitive child, and Brenda's bad moods and sarcastic comments (not to mention her yelling) were very scary to me. I knew she didn't love me or care about me, so anytime she was upset at us it was a gazillion times worse than when my mom or dad got mad.

Second, we were second-class citizens in Brenda's little kingdom. Her perfect little children were like the princes and princess, who got everything and never could do anything wrong in her eyes. She had three children-- an older daughter named Cami, a son who was 4 named David, and a baby that I don't remember much about. The playroom was for Cami and David, never for us. The good snacks were for Cami and David, not for the rest of us. The worst part was that David was a holy terror. A bully right down to his toes at age four. (Yes, I was terrified of a four-year-old). David loved to get out his dad's baseball bats, and he must have been one strong little tyke because he would manage to swing them around and hit whatever kids couldn't get out of his way. He would threaten us with it because he knew his mother wouldn't believe whoever told on him. I learned pretty quickly that telling on David never did any good-- it only put Brenda in a bad mood, and she never bothered to discipline him, as far as I knew.

Unless it was raining, we weren't allowed to be in the house after school. I guess it was good in the way that we got lots of outdoor playing time. But I remember feeling once again second class, that we just weren't good enough to be inside. (Her kids could go inside whenever they wanted.) Brenda had both a spa and a fish pond in her backyard (can you imagine? She left toddlers playing out there for hours with no supervision!) and David loved to shove the unsuspecting younger children into both. I remember quite frequently braving bratty David's wrath to protect Amy, who was only about 3 years old. But even still, he managed to push her into that fish pond at least twice.

I still remember how furious I was when Mom came to pick us up and Brenda explained that Amy had "fallen" into the fishpond again, as if she was just a clumsy little toddler! She never once told my mom that it was her own obnoxious son pushing her in. David was so mean to Amy in particular that I would stress when I went to school for fear of what David might be doing to Amy without her older sisters around to protect her. (Fortunately, with the younger kids, I think Brenda just had them "nap" in her room while she had soap operas on the TV, so there wasn't much David trouble during the morning.)

Though my Brenda memories stretch the time into a never-ending year at least, my mom says this period at Brenda's wasn't very long-- just a few months or so, while she tried to find new childcare arrangements. She knew it wasn't an ideal situation, but she never knew just how bad it was. That was kind of an eye-opener for me yesterday. I guess none of us ever told my mother what was going on. Even if you think your kids would say something in a situation so bleak, maybe they wouldn't. I thought at the time my mom knew. Perhaps because I thought my mom must know everything.

As an adult I can see why Brenda might have been the way she was. It was probably overwhelming, all these kids (because she had a lot of us to watch). She was probably sleep-deprived, since she had a young baby. And with David, she might have just been at a complete loss, I don't know. Parenting is hard. But reminiscing about this experience has reminded me forcefully how much better it is for my kids to be home with me, even if I'm not always the Perfect Mother. They know I love them. They know that they are a valued part of our home. They are not being bullied or mistreated right under an adult's nose.

Since I am home with my kids, they can feel safe, and security in a child's life is so important. It's so hard sometimes to feel that I don't contribute to the financial security of our family, but at least I can provide a safe haven for our kids. That's worth a lot.